Take Me Home
by DetonatorSunshine
Summary: "Doc," he begins, shakes his head, starts again. "George. What if you didn't have to take care of yourself? What if...what if you let me?"


He finds him at some inconvenient hour, hazy-eyed and half asleep. His desk: a mess of manila folders and wrinkled papers, half-empty mugs. His fingers are sluggish on the lighted keyboard of his terminal and he barely looks up when Barba clears his throat.

The attorney stands in the doorway, leaning against it, shy smile curling the edge of his lips.

"We won. Guilty on all counts."

"I heard," George says, and looks up through half-lidded eyes. His fingers have yet to still on the keys. "You should be proud. It was a tough case."

Barba nods with a faraway look and loosens his tie. He looks at his friend, watching the way his eyes rove over the lighted screen, proofreading what he's written. He watches his wide eyes, the full lips, his neglected hair falling every which way it wants.

"When's the last time you slept?"

He keeps his tone light, watching as George hears him, processes his words. The doctor cocks his head to the side, his gaze seeming to cut into Rafael and examine his insides.

"Multiple cases," George says offhandedly. "Something about summer. The heat seems to make everyone psychotic. Either that or the Giants awful record."

 _Watching him, Rafael always seems to be watching him, watching him talk, watching him move and smile and testify and—_

"That was a joke you know." George is looking at him, smirking.

"What?" he blinks, huffs a small embarrassed laugh.

"I do joke sometimes," the doctor continues, switching off the computer. He glances at the attorney, still smirking. "You'd know that if you listened to me when I talk."

Rafael huffs, feigns insult. "I do listen. I was just thinking about something. I do have thoughts outside of you and your jokes."

"Apology accepted." George rolls his eyes. "Come on. I need coffee and we need to celebrate your win."

…

They end up in a coffee house not far from FBI headquarters. It's small, a hole-in-the-wall playing Indie music over the speakers. The place is dead besides them, the doctor and attorney tucked in a booth near the window.

"So what brought you down here?" George asks before bringing a ceramic mug to his lips. Steam floats up and clings to his lashes. Rafael notices and wishes he hadn't.

"I couldn't have just been in the neighborhood?" He sips his coffee, stares out the window.

"At midnight?" George counters, forever smirking, his eyes alight with mischief. "I doubt it." Rafael watches the way he holds the mug in both of his small hands, the way he looks out the window and sighs. He seems both here and faraway, lost in private thoughts.

"Perhaps," Rafael says quietly and George turns to look at him. "Perhaps I came down here to make sure you didn't work yourself to death."

Walls, they both have them. Neither trusts easily while expecting trust to be easily given from others. Even still, Rafael is more of an open book. But the doc? Rafael is surprised how much he simply doesn't know, how much his friend doesn't share.

Even now, the doctor's eyes are distant and sheltered. He does not know what to do with Rafael's concern or what it means. Instead he takes another grateful sip of coffee and remains silent. He looks impossibly young but not innocent. His job required an immediate loss of innocence. Yet he isn't jaded. He's still compassionate, soft. Rafael does not know how he bears it all.

"George," Rafael says softly as he extends his hands on the tabletop between them, close enough to touch but not daring to. "What's wrong?"

The doctor looks up slowly, peering at Rafael from under his lashes. It could be coy if flirtation was the goal. But it isn't. He's too far away. "Nothing, nothing. I'm just...tired is all."

"Then maybe you shouldn't be drinking coffee," Rafael replies, attempting to lighten the mood. Neither laughs or smiles however. George licks his lips. His hands leave the coffee mug, travel slowly to Rafael's.

The touch is light, unsure. There's something about it, the vulnerability of it all, the trust that makes Rafael gaze at him soberly as the doctor unhurriedly gathers his thoughts. Men don't touch like this, Rafael had been conditioned to believe this. Men don't touch, don't caress. Only light fist bumps, side hugs, shoulder punches, the occasional pat on the back. But this touch, George's small, soft hands on top on his larger ones?

"Thank you," George says finally, and Rafael releases the breath he didn't know he was holding. "I appreciate the concern, honestly. But I can take care of myself."

"But what if you didn't have to?" Rafael asks, emboldened by the touch, the heat there. George looks at his sharply, his mouth slightly parted, and it takes everything in the attorney to not kiss him. He's confused, wary and retreats his hands. Barba immediately misses the contact.

"Excuse me?" George asks, either not understanding or understanding it all. Rafael cannot decide. He's normally good at reading people, but not George, never the doc. He doesn't look defensive anymore, just sleepy, his eyes vaguely red.

Rafael leans forward, pushing his coffee to the side. He exhales, runs a hand through his hair. There is no going back. He knows now that he can either forge ahead or stay trapped in this limbo.

"Doc," he begins, shakes his head, stops. "George. What if you didn't have to take care of yourself? What if...what if you let me?"

The silence that follows is dizzying. He watches as George retracts his hands further, his eyes slightly widened, but otherwise he is collectd.

"Rafael," he begins, his voice soft but serious. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying…" he pauses, he doesn't know exactly what he's saying either so he just says whatever he thinks. "I'm saying I can't stop thinking about you. I'm saying I worry about you. I'm saying I watch you in the precinct and in court and anywhere you are. I _dream_ about you. When you lick your lips I can't think straight. When you nibble on your pens I can't help but smile. I'm saying I know your favorite color is green and you hate red velvet and you're a terrible driver. I'm saying I don't know much because you don't let people in easily but I want to know more. If you'll let me."

"Hey ummm...we're closing up in a minute." It's the barista, a tall lanky hipster looking teen. He hadn't heard their conversation but could tell by the looks on their faces that it's important. The doctor looks up at him, then Rafael quickly, then back at his own hands.

"We should go," Huang says quietly and they do without another word.

They're outside in the humidity and heat, Rafael's heart in his throat, his hands jammed into the pockets of his suit. "Look George...I'm sorry. I know I put you in an awkward position and I understand if you don't feel the same w-"

George is kissing him, his arms wrapped around Barba's neck, his fingers in his hair. Kissing him. And Rafael's eyes open wide in shock then close, his hands circling the doctor's small waist. Rafael pulls him closer, impossibly close and George hums. Rafael slips his tongue into the smaller man's mouth and it's wet and slick and perfect and better than he imagined.

"Rafael?" George says when the kiss breaks laughing as the attorney peppers his neck with tickling kisses. Rafael loves his laugh. He smiles and continues. They laugh together. George giggles and playfully pushes him away, his face radiant in the surrounding nighttime darkness.

"Come home with me," Rafael answers The doctor blushes and hides his face in the attorney's neck. Rafael kisses the top of his head, still smiling. "But only if you want," he murmurs, stroking his hair right there on the desolate sidewalk. "Do you want to?"

"Okay," George breathes against his chest. He looks up at him, his eyes bright, brown, the most trusting Rafael has ever seen them. But it's not an answer. George pulls away from him slightly, enough for Rafael to see that he is making this decision on his own.

He looks him dead in the eyes, looks down at his feet, licks his lips. Then he looks up again, his eyes ablaze. His tone flirtatious and irresistible and certain.

"Rafael Barba, take me home."


End file.
